The cigarra breathed orange and red moments of life, each exhalation from the wielder was a blast of air from a billow, birthing youth where the fire had turned to ash. He tasted the remnants of the wrap, notes of the nut and bark coated his lips in a semi-permanent texture. He fixed the item to the edge of his mouth as he surveyed the land, the process at hand. The One Sith had taken on an ambitious approach, he could appreciate that. Developing this beast into something significant, culminating through God like determination, he enjoyed the idea of it. As he surveyed, he scouted those involved in the alchemic sides of the construction, assisting [member="Darth Praelior"] in her endeavors. That wasn't what this Sith Lord was here for, he was a method of quality assurance. A gift offered to the Dark Lord of the Sith, a mode of conquest, would be one that would surpass his expectations or be thrown to the wayside. Gabriel admitted, from the looks of the thing, that he had high expectations.
He placed his robe on a stand, revealing a sculpted body beneath. Bracers, greaves, chest armor, and skin a mixture of scars and tribal tattoos of black and green sheen. His hair was tied up, for now, cascading in rigidness down his back. His singular crimson eye looked upon the beast, mannerisms that of quiet contemplation as he waited for his moment in the experimental process. The kiffar-arkanian hybrid stood in silence, statuesque, building upon the force and collecting it within him.